


Writing Prompt: Devola's Dress

by ImprobabilityMachine



Category: Original Work
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Dragons, F/F, Fantasy, LGBT, Lots of Passive Voice, Transgender Issues, Writing Prompt, first person POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 01:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19122022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImprobabilityMachine/pseuds/ImprobabilityMachine
Summary: Based off a prompt by writing prompts: A young knight is chosen to serve the dragon princess, and learns a few things about who they are.





	Writing Prompt: Devola's Dress

“I don’t understand," I said, looking at the princess. In the darkness of her cave, only the faintest glow of her heart’s fire could be seen. "You’re a dragon. I’m a man made of flesh that burns easily. What use have you for me?”

“I have many uses for you,” her voice shook the ground, causing trembles to overtake everything from the pebbles sitting loosely on the dirt to my general’s armored knees. They clanged together noisily, until the princess settled back down. She says nothing else to clarify the issue.

I look to the other sers, but from the looks in their eyes, they're just happy it isn't them standing where I'm standing - facing what I'm facing. They say no one comes back from serving a dragon - not one knight in a hundred years. But especially not Devola the rude, who fancies changing men into sheep before swallowing them whole.

I listen to those rumors as closely as I do the ones that say otherwise. Because there are some whispers that circle around the parts of towns that most knights don't hail from. Dragons have magic, you see, to make the ugly beautiful, and the poor rich. So while the lords and royals speak of horrors, the peasants insist _everyone_ comes back. Just maybe not the same as before. 

My suspicions are high, but I am intrigued, now. I swallow my concerns, and questions, and turn back to her Highness.

I give her a bow, and without any further grievances or commentary, accept my new assignment.

—

Months pass as quickly as molasses escaping a tipped over jar. Serving as knight to Princess Devola was everything I thought it would be. She did all the fighting, flying, and traveling, while my job was to stay and keep her cave safe from any wandering knaves. Of which there are none, because no one nearby is foolish enough to risk angering a dragon. 

Every week, a young lad - Phillip, with bright red hair - ventured up the mount to gather post. He rarely had anything to deliver, but I appreciated his company all the same. I would have a drink with him, and he would tell me about how very little the town was changing in my absence. Of course, as the days grew longer and hotter, he started coming less frequently, until he didn't come at all. 

Sometimes, a rather lovely blue bird  would sing me a song. Of course, they stopped coming 'round too, once they got a good look of Devola, who stopped by maybe one every two or three weeks.

I hope I'm not painting too exciting a picture, because it was a very lonely time for me.

To alleviate my boredom, I tried spreading rumors of the untold treasure inside of Devola's cave. I crept down to the end of the mountain and whispered it to whoever would listen. When that seed failed to fruit, I resigned myself to days that were too long and full of staring at the empty, craggy rocks of a Dragon mountain. In boiling armor.

One mound of rocks resembled a lumpy, short steed. I named it Carl, after my brother who was also lumpy and short. One afternoon, I pretended to feed Carl, and told him of my dreams to one day own some land. Though no one was around to hear it, I felt so embarrassed that I did not address Carl for two whole nights. It was all quite silly, but at least it felt a little more normal - a little more like back home felt. 

I wrote to my brother with a drawing of it and sent it down the mountain. I never heard back, though I don't know if that's because he was offended, or if there just wasn't a way to reply. I sometimes wonder if he wasn't glad to be rid of me.

There were the days when Devola treated me by dropping a sheep on my head. If it didn’t die from the fall, I had to slaughter it before roasting it. Sometimes even had to chase it. That was fun, I guess. You never know which sheep is smart enough to run away from the cave, and which isn't. One brave fellow leaped from the sides of the mountain, and made for quite a chase.

She had quite a hoard of spices and herbs. On her order, I would grind them into paste and smear it all over the meat, before roasting slowly on a spit. It tasted beyond wonderful. I learned to differentiate them from smell, and taste. I didn’t notice when she stopped telling me what to use. At that point, I had an idea of what I wanted, and had experimented enough to learn what worked well with each other. She would watch me with great interest as I cooked, but rarely spoke.

Garlic, onion, pink salt from the sand valleys, cinnamon, clove, ginger, milk, and a splash of southern ale - that's my favorite recipe, if you want to know. Delicious. I think of it now, and crave it often. 

And to cook it just so the fat is sweet, and the meat tender... it is food that I would serve a God, 

Eating hard bread and dried, salted beef was like torture before I knew what food could taste like, and completely unbearable once I did.

“It’s not all bad,” Devola would say, after listening to me complain about my stretched hours.

“Its… boring,” I would respond. And in a small, sad voice, she would agree. Boring, indeed. Lonely, indeed.

"But now, I have you."

At the time, I didn't agree - after all, I was just there to serve her. Our companionship was contracted.

I was very foolish back then.

—

It took me too long to start wandering. Perhaps I was frightened of what I would find. Or perhaps I was stubborn in my refusal to see a silver lining on my cloudy life. Either way, it was 8 months into my service when I entered the cave.

The first thing I noticed was the piles of gold. It was hard not to notice. I could hear my name being whispered in the shadows between each tiny coin. Promises of the life I could have. I dug my hands into them, just to feel the cool metal against my skin. 

Moving further into the darkness, there were large piles of rugs and skins, set about strategically - Devola's bed. I could see grooves in the pile where Devola laid her head, and tail. They sunk beneath my weight as I hoisted myself on top of one pile, and then rolled down until I was in the center. How warm and soft everything was around me. I could lay there forever.

I almost did. 

Stretching, I could feel Lady Sleep slipping her arms around my chest, dragging me closer towards her. Knowing Devola would not be happy to catch me napping on the job, I forced myself to move on, and to crawl over the other side of the bed, where a pair of golden arches waited for me.

At first look, the closet appeared to be of Eastern design. Every inch of the purple painted wood was decorated with intricate carvings that swirled, twirled, and filled me with a sense of wonder. When I wrapped my hands around the handles, I felt a sense of calm wash over me. The doors creaked open, spilling the smell of lavender and blossoming trees into the musty cave air.

The dresses inside were made of fabric so thin and soft, it felt like water in my hands. I brought them to my face, to feel the softness. They were in every color I knew, and some I didn’t. But what fascinated me the most was the size of them. Whatever woman had worn them had been thick around the waist, and small in breast. Almost boylike in shape.

I held one to my body to compare. It looked like it’d fit.

That little detail haunted me in a strange way. I imagined myself, full of beard and belly, wearing such delicate, feminine things. It amused me. Shocked me. And, eventually, I realized that no one would know if I were to put it on. I spoke with Carl the steed about it. He seemed to agree - how queer an idea. Yet, I wanted to feel the softness on my skin, so different from rough leather and itchy cotton. I wanted to glance at myself in them…

I stewed in my desires until one morning, I came back to them. I threw open the doors, and chose the one in a soft blue I’d soon come to know as Periwinkle.

Staring at myself in a mirror, I felt such odd things. Things I’ve come to realize are happiness and contentment. 

I looked so odd and so unladylike, it made me laugh. But if I drank a few less beers, tied my belt just a little tighter... I could almost see it.

That evening, I shaved.

“You’re quite pretty beneath your fur,” Devola teased. And I took the compliment gracefully. Because for the first time in a long time, I remembered why I grew my beard in the first place. My jaw has always been far too wide, and my cheeks far too soft.

I looked like my mother.

—-

“When can I see the Dragon kingdom?”

Devola looked up at me, a curious look in her face. Or so I suppose - dragon faces make expressions more like the southern scaled beasts than any human, and I could really only guess at that point.

“This is all there’s ever been and will be,” she said, with what I presume was a smile. Human ways must be so different than hers. I had never thought to ask.

“I’ve heard stories, though,” I said, testing the waters of a real conversation. “Of an actual kingdom in the sky. With castles, and flying horses.”

“There is my father’s roost above us, and the mountain below us. We do not claim any territory but this.”

I sighed, but didn't quite believe her. There was something in the way she spoke - a melodic quality to her tone that made me suspicious. 

“How many dragons are there, then?”

“At least four, I think. Unless old Bertry finally passed…” she sat up, her arms - or front legs; I really don’t know what you call them - folding beneath her. I’d seen many cats sit such a way, but never a dragon. “We have a ruler who has the ancient power, and knows all. When my father passes, I will inherit the power and then I could tell you. But until then, I honestly don’t know. We do make home in the sky, but not as you think. Not in the human way.”

“I see,” I lied. My mind had drifted to this ancient power, and I recalled, in the previous life of mine, Ser Bruton telling me of a soldier who’d been turned to a dog. To confuse matters further, I thought of the periwinkle dress, the soft fabric against my cheek; looking in the mirror and seeing the ghost of my mother, if she were a fat man. My mind floated and was doing dizzying cartwheels, trying to make something happen - trying to bring together these two seemingly unconnected topics. Whatever she’d said had already left me.

I poked at our campfire with a stick. Devola waited a moment, looking at me with some expectation, and then dropped her head for some sleep. I watched the flames dance, and thought of the dresses, and man-dogs. 

An idea had formed, but not fully. It sat at the cusp of my mind, aching to be known, but staying just out of reach.

It wasn't until I laid my own head down for rest that I realized what I wanted.

—

Carl led me to my name. 

 

Sitting against him one day, talking to him, letting my thoughts and fears bounce off his stony skin, I came to realize so much.

I wanted to be a farmer, once, like my parents. But I was born tall and strong, and put on the path of a soldier from the time I could walk. How I used to envy my neighbor Marta, who sat with chickens in her arms and fresh corn in a basket. The strangeness of Marta was that as she watched me get hit with wooden sword after wooden sword, she was as envious me as I was of her.

One afternoon, when I was just shy of 16, she sat with me after the real Carl gave me a sound beating. We ate bread and sausage, and drank wine she'd stolen from the tavern.

“You know, if you weren't so distracted, you might just win one day," she said, smiling at me. 

"Aye, and if you weren't there watching, I might not be so distracted," I said, returning her smile. I caught the faint rose blossoming on her cheeks, and had to turn away. She looked all the more lovely in that moment.

Truthfully, though, I had lied to her. While Marta was a sight that would capture the attention of anyone who knew to look for her, the truth was I was just uncomfortable, and unmotivated. When I moved, I felt graceless. My feet found mud more than solid ground, and my lanky limbs flailing around only made it hard to hit where I was aimed. I had hoped that training harder would make it easier, but all it did was make me wider. 

I didn't understand at that time, but when I looked at Marta, her muscles almost as big as mine from working the land, I felt somewhat more relaxed. I felt more myself, and less the son my father wanted me to be.

"And what's the difference between the two?" Carl asked.

"I suppose I don't want to be a son at all, let alone the one my father wants," I said, as if I'd known this all along. And yet, somehow, I did. "But if I were not a son, then Marta would not want me."

"Are you sure about that?"

I opened my mouth, so sure of the answer, that I was shocked when, instead, I said nothing. 

"I think that if Marta wanted a son like your father wanted, then she would want your brother instead," Carl said, his wise words striking me like sun through a storm cloud - startling in their clarity. "But she wants  _you_."

Leaning against Carl, I did not move until I heard the sound of Devola's wings, and felt the heat of her heart's fire. My mind and heart had been working against one another, like a clock out of sync, confusing the truth. But suddenly, they were perfectly in tune. The thoughts I'd been having, the desires - they all made sense in that moment. 

Devola dropped a real horse beside Carl, and greeted me with the name I’d had when I was a soldier. She seemed to know, though, that something was different. Instead of slinking off to her cave, she lingered, staring at me, making me tremble with a fear worse and better than before, both at the same time. I stood up, and looked her in the eyes, hoping that she saw  _me_.

“Call me Mary,” I told her. The words falling from my mouth fast, so that I had no time to stop them. My heart was beating hard enough, I could barely hear the soft sigh that escaped Devola.

She smiled, and nodded. “Finally, my knight has come to serve me. Now, to cook horse it’s different than lamb…”

—

I served Devola two years total, until her father died. We knew the moment he passed. The moon was full, and the sky full of glittering stars. The mountain shook, and blue fire erupted into the sky. Devola’s heart's fire - once a ruby red - turned a dark purple. Her eyes glimmered, and the air around her became heavy and weighted, like the moments before lightning strikes.

One moment, she was Devola - kind and old, warm and motherly. The next, she was a queen, and I felt her change. I felt it in my soul, and I grieved as I realized that my moments were her were coming to a close. A lifetime service, cancelled by the life of dragon royalty. Cursed in their loneliness. 

“I haven’t worn my armor in so long… Or heard that other name… the thought of returning to it makes me sick," I confessed. 

Queen Devola laughed, the sound coming from deep inside her belly.

“Mary, do not fret. When you return, none will see you as you were before, except for those who saw your heart. For to them, your physical body has never been you. That is your payment for your service, and friendship.”

I had doubts, as I always had when something worked in my favor. But Devola gave me instructions to follow. 

At midnight, she rose to the top of the mountain, where she would roost her eggs, and rule in a quiet slumber. Her heart connecting all the dragons in the sky - and her mind leading them. She would no longer need to eat, and could no longer speak to us humans. I held my hand to my chest as I left, certain that if I moved it away, I would not be able to breathe again. 

I walked down the mountain in my gown of periwinkle. Near the bottom of the mountain, there was a pool illuminated by the moonlight. I stripped off everything and stepped into it, until my head was completely submerged. When I rose from the waters, I was not the same. In wisdom, I was richer, and in body, I was as I’d always dreamed of being.

Of course, I wasn't the only one changed. Carl waited for me, the chestnut of his fur perfectly matching the color of the stones of the mountain. He breathed as surely as I did.

With herbs in my pack and Devola's words burning bright in my mind, I set down the path back to home. Back to Marta, who I knew, would see me, and love me as she always had.

 


End file.
